Fear

She sat in the frontiers of her mind; monstrous and mighty.

A shrill voice escaped, don't let her in, don't let her linger.

Screams of anguish suppressed by rigour, here will I stay and here will I rest.

Vices of the past and wrongs of the youth thrusting her soul, wrecking her wit. 

Burning breath of hatred, bitterness, guilt and shame coiling her frail, frail.

I let you in, I gave you room. But its time you leave. You simply must go.

She laughed like a thunder and danced like a drunkard.
Oh, I am not going, this is my home; here will I stay, together with you.
I will conquer by the fright of your heart, cremate your dreams and clobber your plans.

What should I do, oh what can I give, 
for you to just leave and turn not around?

Well, I may never go. I may never leave. But someday I might, 
once my spineless friend 'timid' moves out of here.

Why I can do this myself

Yo, what's going on? Why are you all quiet and ish..

Its funny you should ask, because you're the one acting all weird and distant.

What? What do you mean I am being aloof. You're the one sitting alone, not talking to anyone, having a long face and giving a hissy fit.

Yeah, I know. Am just feeling a little low. That's all.

But why?

I don't know, yaar.

Hm, is it something I did. I have a tendency to wander off and dig up dirt from our past. Then I keep replaying it, you know me right...

Am not sure, man. Am just not happy with myself.

Whaaat? are you kidding me? You have no reason to feel bad, ok!
You are working every day, doing your part and not hurting anyone.
We can say that you even help around a bit.
Can you do better? Yes, you could do better, but you're trying and that's everything.
Don't beat yourself up.

I don't know man, its just taxing you know, this adulting. 

So many things to juggle. You think you're doing enough, but is it really enough?

 I don't know, man. This is getting deep. I mean, I am not losing per se. 

So what! That doesn't mean am winning either. Am I? 

Ugh!! Guess am just anxious. Overthinking as usual. Stupid me.

It's good to keep a tab on your thoughts, weigh out your feelings
to just see for yourself where you're at, its good babe. Healthy even.
Just don't go bonkers, aight? Let it be.

You're right man, I need to calm down and relax. 

Thanks for being a friend and cheering me up. I feel a lot better.

Come on! Isn't that why I am still here, beating for you.

B e    y o u r    o w n   f r i e n d

Moved to tears: a story on sisterhood

The benediction was given and the congregation was dismissed. Edith walked to the pulpit from behind to meet the minister. She was stopped by Jane to her surprise and they exchanged pleasantries and friendly hugs. Edith was 36, married and with kids. She had a calm, charming and contagiously giggly personality. Jane was 5 years younger and they both knew each other through the years of attending the same church and being in the same fellowship. 

Jane told Edith, as her face turned warm and her eyes moist, 'remember me in your prayers sis, in the new year at least God should grant us a blessing.' and looked away poignantly. Edith understood her inference and took Jane's hands in a firm clasp and said tenderly, 'I have been praying for you everyday. I see you every week, and I know how you must be feeling being the only one left among your friends. Many of us are praying and God will certainly bless you. Keep your faith, the Lord will do great things for you.' 

As cool springs in a parched desert, Edith's words moistened Jane's weary heart, and as she looked up to give her a final peck and leave, she was stunned to see a heavy drop of tear slide down Edith's face.

Jane's pain was seen in Edith's eyes. They hugged again.

Why I write even when I don't want to write

If you arrived here because you too were hell pissed about wanting to write something but not having the mind to write; yet not able to let go of the urge to write because you want to be writing nonetheless. Yes?

[Hi-Fi, deep breaths, take a seat.. lemme hold your hand]

I get you. I really do.

If I had a rupee (I'm Indian) for every time I mosey around, giving myself a pep talk while searching my brain for topics that would accelerate me to write, I would be buried in my own wealth. 

Writers don't worry about coining words, they worry about the message in their words.

To slap something together and call it a piece is not a writer's metier. For a simpleton who wants to be paid by the hour for completing 2000 words and submit, can do just that and sleep alright. But not for someone who sees their craft sacred, who would wallow in the warmth of toasty words and would proofread and edit to the point of losing the plot. To be a writer is to have one's thoughts translated into soulful words.

There is always something to write. Don't let your mood or the situation in your life or the crap you had to take that day dictate or discourage you from picking up your pen and paper. Oh-kay, or opening your word processor! Smh. Your day should be done only after you make sweet love with words because that's how much you should be in love with writing. A writer should not thrive on motivation, just inspiration and that's exactly why this post is up!

December is the month to look back

2017 has been savoury. Oft times when I am alone, my heart and mind sings in adulation of God’s righteousness. The saving grace of God that surpasses all human wisdom and sageness. I have been thinking of incidental and definitive moments in this year. It seems like there really wasn’t any noticeable accomplishments. We didn’t buy a house or a car, we didn’t have our first child or get a pet, my travel plans collapsed, my brother couldn't visit us, some incomes were shut, chai wala is still the PM of my country.. But it feels like this was a successful year nonetheless.

This whole year,
· I was never lonely or fearful
· I didn’t go without food, clothing or shelter
· I didn’t meet with an accident or lose a body part
· I didn’t have a loved one ill or hospitalised · I wasn’t stalled in the rains or the storms
· I was not mugged, violated or abused in any way
· I didn’t go without money in my purse
· I didn’t sleep without food in my belly or in my fridge
· I wasn’t deprived of love or friendship

The kind of things I read and hear every day - the cruelties in the world, makes me want to pull my own hair. People suffering every day in unimaginable ways, indescribable and unconscionable. Rape, murder, genocide, bombing, theft, quakes, lightening, hurricanes, plagues, addiction, losing of jobs and houses, children and elders, its menacing. If I am going to complain one second of one day in my life, for lack of anything lesser than the above mentioned, I must be made of inconceivable evil, because nothing makes a person human, as much as being grateful does. Your belief of good fortune could be in anything but mine is from Jesus. He is the One who led, held and protected me (us) throughout this year. I know that without a doubt and am grateful with all my heart 💖

When girlfriends spill the beans

I present to you emotions. Emotions of wantedness, validation, belongingness and companionship. I have both given and received love in abundance. The soaring midnight calls, waking up to good morning texts, the i-miss-u's and the i-love-you's, the flirtatious nudging, pinching, holding of hands and rubbing of fingers within tightly held palms, the deliberately mistaken touch in a crowded elevator followed by a sly smile, inappropriate banter, from feeling each others toes from under the table, canoodling in a car or petting with eyes across a room amongst peers. 

I know it all, have seen it all, and had it all.

But what happens when you snap out from a Cecelia Ahern's novel and realise that's not good enough? This smoke of romance has been fogging your vision life. In other words, what do you do when life happens (read as shit happens). You look into those emotions, an the people associated with them and all you find are a bunch of prawn heads that make you squirm.

We want the real deal and most often than not, we realise we are somewhat missing it. It could be monetary accomplishments, emotional unavailability, or even not getting some. The need for an uplifting bunch of people to call as our own, our people and kin. Intellectual companionship that is simple and straightforward. No underlying intentions or hidden agendas. No need of coy or flattery. Just outspoken, honest and decent talk. Is that too much to ask Apparently! Despite being kind, approachable, jovial, temperament and level-headed, it's hard to find your tribe.

Its almost like being good and moral is the reason we fail. The world has changed so much that it doesn't hold good in good stead anymore. 

Call ended 00:57:29

Dear you.

It appears to me that the only time you have a conversation with yourself is when you are disappointed in yourself. Stop acting like you don’t know what I am talking about. I am talking about the lonely pillow talks with yourself crying and feeling miserable. Does that jog your memory? Or how about your silent suppression of self-esteem whenever you see someone prettier, smarter, wealthier or talented than you are? Now, don’t make me give you the ugly list of all the times in a day you do this to yourself, in fact every time you’re alone with your thoughts, isn't this what your really up to?

Are you stupid?

Nah, the right question is, how can you be so stupid?

I guess, I was right earlier. You ARE stupid.

Look at your palm. Seriously, look at your fingers. (I know you're not looking) you notice each of your finger is in a different size, don't you? If all the fingers were of the same size, you cannot use it like you do now. The lows and lengths in your life have a reason. They lead you to a new place. A better place. The kind of place where the pain of your past has a meaning. Don't disregard any experience as bootless. Life is not meant to be perfect. 

Look back at all the amazing and beautiful things that happened in your life. They were either preceded or succeeded by shitty, painful days. Life is like a lorry stuck in Mount Road traffic (Chennai references, hehe), there are times it will have its way, times it will not. Sometimes at midnight it has the entire road to itself like a boss. Its about the time and seasons. Change is the only constant. Don’t be consumed in the pain of the hopeless things that are happening in your life today. Look up. Rejoice. Remember the merry days, the smiles, the little joys. I don't see you grinning or laughing alone at night reminiscing the amazing things that have happened to you from your birth, then why do it only with hurtful things? Fill your heart with thankfulness instead of spite and bitterness. Prepare your heart for the beauty that is just ahead. Don’t wallow in pain, rise above! 

P.S I was encouraged to write this piece because every time I have a conversation with a friend or kin, they talk tirelessly on how gloomy things have been in their life. They hardly even mention or acknowledge any good thing. But knowing their life, I have seen in their lives successes and everyday blessings which they hardly make mention or celebrate. Pain consumes. Joy uplifts. But don't have to let pain consume us. We can let it fuel us. It is an option. Make that choice.

Sylvia by William Shakespeare

Song: “Who is Silvia? what is she”
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
(from Two Gentlemen of Verona)

Who is Silvia? what is she,  That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;  The heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admirèd be.
Is she kind as she is fair?  For beauty lives with kindness.
Love doth to her eyes repair,  To help him of his blindness;
And, being helped, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,  That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing  Upon the dull earth dwelling;
To her let us garlands bring
       _____________________________

Sir William Shakespeare, I tip my hat to you! My heart is swayed with each passing line. Honey dripping in sweet ecstacy. Women are exquisite even as they are. Fill her with goodness and you give us a goddess.

#poetry #poems #williamshakespeare #sylvia #poemporn #poemgasm
 credit: collectorprints.com

Inspired by a fierce girl who sat next to me at church

Let me paint you a picture. This girl was annoying and ill-mannered. You know those kids that think they are above others, avoid eye contact and act lofty. Yeah? I am sure you guys can relate to a niece or a nephew, a friend's child or may be your own ( just saying ;)) or someone right about now.

I generally scan the room for a kid-free zone before deciding on the pew. But just like my luck of having screaming babies for co-passengers in flights, I attract pissy teens and reckless toddlers in gatherings. This girl that joined me was a handful. May God have mercy. Kicking me from time to time whilst shifting her leg. Whiny, naggy, dear God!

 After a while, she took out a case of oil pastels and a drawing notebook. She wanted to duplicate the graphic on the case which was an evening sky behind hills. Her crayons were broken, chipped and messy. Of course. She then started to forcefully drill the crayons onto the paper and in swift movements went back and forth in a curve. Using reds, violet and magenta to paint the sky, filling spaces with yellows, peach and pinks. The drawing came alive and was iridescent. Then she did this cool thing by going over all of it with a white crayon to dim the sheen. I took a gander at her drawing and the pride in her eyes and broke a smile. 

Fast forward to today, I was having a #writersblock and wanted to catch a break. I decided to draw what she drew and follow her method. I pounded  and dragged my crayons exactly like her even though a couple of them broke. I must say I felt good and giggly, strangely liberating to be honest. I actually enjoyed it. Next time I see her I will show her this picture and talk to her, may be help her in mending her attitude. She is a child and I am not; which only means I have to be an adult and reach out. Inspiration is everywhere even in seemingly dismissive stances.

.

.

#storyteller #inspirationiseverywhere #lifelessonsfromachild #writingpractice #writingnarrations #writinginspiration #writingislife

My darling, words.

This is my textbook from when I was in school. After I completed my schooling, I cleared out my book shelf to make room for the college books. I preserved this book among few others because I felt this book needed revisitation. I recognized my interest in the English language when I was in 7th std. But I wasn't too keen up until class 9. My favorite subjects were history, geography, commerce, biology, tamil and english. In hindsight, I think my preference in subjects involved detailed writing than solving like maths, chemistry or accounts.

Anyway English II was in the lead for faves. It was a subject of stories, compositions and grammar. Nobody gave that subject any props because it was all too easy and effortless. I, on the other hand was super stoked about it. Since it was not considered a professional subject like science, maths or computers (it was not), I think I was disquieted to come out with my love affair with English because it was a secondary subject and I didn't want to be running in the sidelines. When I learned there was a subject called 'Advanced English' in the 4th group, I was torn. Sadly, I didn't know about following your heart or passion at that time, so I chose a different group.

But the heart wants what it wants, and I couldn't shake it off even when the years rolled by. I worked in corporate communication for a long time after I graduated. It was business writing, press release, blogging, media relations and social media. I was in a happy place, then somehow between jobs I derailed to marketing as corporate communication was a part of the marketing function in many organisations. Within a year in  marketing role, I knew I had to pull the reins. I wanted to retract to my first love but it was mayhem. It was a battle of staying in a job that pays the bills against doing what I was cut out for. The insurmountable dissatisfaction of not loving what I do and the inextinguishable desire to do what I love, fueled me to take the leap. 

I have started afresh and am excited for what's ahead, because my heart is in the right place and I know if I work hard, my dreams will come to fruition. There is something enchanting and seductive about literature, poetry and even simple childrens books. I don't think any other thing moves my soul like a compelling narration. Two weeks ago I visited the books marinating in the book shelves behind doors for years. When I spotted #TheCountOfMonteCristo I was thrilled and glee. I knew the time had come to pick her up after a decade. It felt like a reunion of sorts. I am concurrently listening to the audio book #TheOdyssey by #Homer and I am in literature heaven. Couldn't get any better.

#GirlLove

Ladies,

How many of us can honestly say we have been genuinely happy for the successes in the lives of the women we know. Not the ones we like of course, but our colleagues, neighbours, acquaintances, cousins, even sisters.

Many argue that another person's success or failure doesn't affect them and that their focus lies on themselves and the wellbeing of the ones they love. But it cannot be so. We either love or we don't. If there is an in-between, that has an inclination. 

Here's why. 

Humans are a race. We cannot detach ourselves completely from our species with the exception to sociopaths. We cannot isolate unassailably from other humans. If we refute, we are either lying to ourselves or too proud to accept.

Women on women hatred is a real thing and ugly at one. But it need not be. I think when a person realises their worth in their own eyes, and equips themselves to pursue their purpose, hatred loses its luster. People with  passion and purpose tend to steer clear of envy. From then on its self love, girl love and one love. We've heard that a happy women is a pretty woman, but I'd say a women happy for another woman is a powerful woman.

My paint palette in white

Sitting across me on the window sill, she looked away with indifference.
I continued my stare suggesting a point of view while she copped a dismal.
I took notice of her seven orbs. Each of it once held a prism of colours keenly concocted.
They looked tainted, worn and unwashed perhaps.
How then is she piled in pride despite the tarnish, those unmasked blemishes?

I continued in wonderment and arrived at a halt.
She knew her value, she knew her power, perhaps.
She knew she was helping create masterpieces, doesn't that make her one?

When you are used, you will fray, tarnish and reduce. 
My smirking gaze transformed to admiration;
and she looked nothing short of spectacular.
Those spots weren't ugly anymore.
Baring those scars attributed to her majesty

Song of the fighter woman

She swayed in the current 
Whilst thinking she had a plan
She was moving but not forward
Continuously inspired but insipid to act

Oh she talked of many possibilities
So much so, that her own words wearied her

She knew what uniqueness she was made of
Yet doubted her underlying greatness

She waited for life to take its course
And boy, did it not; There were many

seasons and she embraced them all

She pocketed them and harmonious

Her presence in the present seemed non-existent
Yet wise to not let mediocre prevail

She knew comfort meant trouble lurking
She had to had to take a stand

Life comes with only a finite number of  cards,

And here she was, already over drawing
She knew time has been racing her all along

Poor time couldn't see the competitor in her

Her hopes pinned on her steadfast heart

Her dreams now worked out as anchored plans 

She uncoiled, brought her feet to the ground

Leapt to take off and set sail

What remained now was for the world to see
See her fly in the vast compass of  the sky

Against the current, along the mighty eagles

Soaring high while conquering the storm 

Midnight awakenings.

The blood to her heart pumped in an uninterrupted motion. The day's chores were done, vessels were washed, curtains were drawn, night lamps glinted dimly and it was time to retire to bed. Her eyes refused to close, thanks to her unwarranted evening nap. Her faithful phone lay next to her nudging her with flickering notification lights, eventually seducing her despaired mind. She picked it up in one mindless scoop.

She surfed from pages to sites, profiles to channels, opened Apps after Apps; her burgeoning mind didn't seem to catch a break. At one particular point she became mindful when a video of two friends conversing alerted her. It was a Q&A on fashion blogging. Her forehead narrowed with interest, and her hearing grew powerful as the video played along. The jist of the conversation was this: One friend asked the other how she managed to make her blog popular. Her friend answered that she would stay up till 3:00 am to edit the pictures from the photo shoot and would learn other skills needed to run a blog. She said she does not like to be dependent on anybody for her work and prefers to do everything by herself. Since she was passionate she could stay motivated and push harder everyday.

<Grammar screw up alert: No more third person. That She is I. Moving along in first person>

I abruptly stopped the video. I felt inspired. It was not news which I didn't know. If anything, I knew working hard has its rewards. But working and working with passion are two different things. Passion is the payoff ingredient and that really struck a chord with me. I could feel my heart beginning to pump a gallon of blood. I could feel my heart soar at that moment. The time was 2:15 am. It reminded me of my plan and the aspirations of my heart. The things I ever so excitedly talk about it, but words mean nothing when there is no passionate work? 

I straightened myself and grabbed my notebook. I looked for my favorite pen in a frenzy. I was heavily inspired to document the revelation of the last couple of moments. I couldn't find the pen. I frantically looked for it and was getting increasingly peeved. And suddenly it dawned on me; my moment of clarity. I could see the mess in the maze of my plan. I could see how I get put off and discouraged for the smallest things. I do have a vision but I operate like a robot. I am not open or flexible, though I claim that I am. I guess I am lying to myself. I need perseverance. I need to be willing to take new directions even if it is ambiguous. Above all I need to work my tail off.

One of my fears had been that I am not ready to make it in the big world. I need to be at a certain level to become successful. This has been the torturous voice in my head for as long as I can remember. But today I knocked down that mirage that had me trapped all these years. I don't have to be ready, I just have to be unapologetically me!. Borrowing the words of Elizabeth Gilbert to summarize, "An imperfect plan executed now is better than a meticulous plan executed never." Our time is now. Believe and act away!

I live and die for days like this.

17:08 pm, 11 August 2017

She sensed there were only few seconds before a downpour. Her heart beamed with ecstacy as steady bursts of chilly winds rummaged her hair making her face itchy.

It appeared to her that her entire being declared to her with one sound voice, 'this is the life. This is the life you wanted. This is the life that serves you well.' She could feel her writing speed up as she heard voices and footsteps in the background running for shelter. She reckoned the first drops had landed somewhere.

She looked back at the blackening skies for one more time, her lips curved in a frigid smile. Her heart leaped in a jolly. Her weariness melted away. She found hope. She felt joyful again.

It was tea time.

The end.

17:11 pm, 11 August 2017

#ChennaiMonsoons

Vysh, how I miss you! (1/2)

It was 1:00 am. I laid awake on my bed, staring at a pointed red light indicating to me my AC was running. I couldn't contain my thoughts, it was a raging night. I I tried to stay calm, I had an unamusing day, so I wanted to create my own muse by travelling through the labyrinth of my mind. I cannot recollect what catapulted my attention to Vaishnavi (Vysh), but that moment marked the beginning of a long night that was to unfold.

The serendipity

Most girls I went to school with do not know Vysh and I were good friends; damn it, we were close friends. It doesn't appear silly to me that they didn't know it, because we didn't speak much in school, we didn't have lunch together and we were not paired in any team or called out to be a part of any event. However, we existed in the same school. 

It was the year 2003, the dreaded 10th std. board exams were over and the good, better and the best bunch in school made it., yup we were in higher secondary, ya'll! We were on top of the food chain. We were the ultimate seniors! We were bitchin'. Wow, how unabashedly happy we were :D

On the first day after summer, when the school re-opened, the girls were summoned to classes based on the groups they had chosen. The class was full of familiar faces.  Faces we had seen over the years of middle school and high school. As clueless teenagers who like to act out like know-it-alls, we teamed up with girls we were already friends with. Finding your bench farther from the black board and making sure you have in the same row and in the adjacent benches all the girls you liked, was pivotal to excelling in school; or so we thought. 

And there was me. I was a wonder to many. People didn't know who I was friends with; they have all seen me at some point in time but they didn't know me. They didn't know if I was a dull or bright student, whether I was friendly or weird., who I sat in lunch with (that shit mattered a lot you guys). It was all a puzzle. Some still identified me as the "new admission" though it was five years before that I was new to the school. I don't blame them, middle school was not the best years of my life. They were however the years that shaped my expectation in relationships. The struggle was real. Deep stuff right? May be I will share later what went down in those years. Re-routing to Vysh: Kris and I were friends in high school and so it was a natural choice for us to sit together. Kris and Vysh were friends from elementary school, so Vysh was also in the same row with me.

Thinking back, Kris was too tall to be sitting in the second row, I wonder if the girls behind us complained. Anyway, we were in class, sitting in second row, doing calculus, understanding nothing but trying to prove the damn LHS to RHS. We sat through together pretty much for all classes. We enjoyed each others company, we still were just friends, we didn't talk about personal things or family affairs. We simply liked and cared for each other and probably, subconsciously chose each other more than others in class because we kinda were destined to be great friends.

The heartbreak

It was not even a good 3 months into 11th std, we were in class. It was between periods, which was obviously the best times. The classroom was a scene of riot, all kinds of gossips were being told and received. Jokes were cracked about classmates and teachers, the class monitor was trying to settle us down and we obviously had to make fun of her. I mean, common! Vysh and I were also playing the fool, I remember having a pencil in my hand and when I turned to tell her something, I poked her with the flat side of the pencil on her hind arm. She was a fair and good looking girl, her skin was of a yellow tone. The pencil caused a blood clot immediately and it was strange to see a beaming reddish mark form against her pale, sunny skin for such a small tug. 

It was the next day, we were in class, doing integrals, and I noticed the blood clot and it hadn't faded. I asked her about it, she evaded my question. I think there had been other symptoms and she was already seeing a doctor. She did not discuss about her health situation, may be she was embarrassed, may be she didn't want to make a big deal of it. Knowing her, I think that she didn't want to believe that something is going wrong in her body and she didn't want to talk about it because she didn't want to give her ailment the attention that it was demanding of her that was breaking her will and bruising her body.

To be continued...

11 Reasons why I do not suck at writing.

I always have room for food, hence the spoon. Stop judging.

The last time I posted here was on Jan 30th. It has been 5 friggin’ months since I’ve published anything here. But look at my title - talk about hypocrisy! <insert grin face emoji>.

I have five or six unfinished drafts lying around. Last night I was going through them, and it kept me awake. It was painful to comprehend my reasons for lack of execution, however it was fun to discover what really is the problem. Here are my top reasons why I don’t publish often but why I have no trouble writing.


1. I have many thoughts, many. Oh so many. You will relate better if you’re a woman. We enjoy dwelling in hypothetical situations, don’t we?

2. I can sound rhetorical, like directly from a self-help book. I don’t make an effort to write that way, I guess my thoughts are quite classic (see what I did there, winky face ;))

3. My words come out preachy, at least that’s how I feel sometimes reading through my prose.

4. I don’t think like the people around me, my views are generally surprising and interesting to my peers. It fuels me to write them down simply because they are unfamiliar.

5. I say ‘I’ way too many times, I really don’t know of other ways to start my sentences. I need help with that.

6. I try to keep at par with my vision of the article and then begin to question the reading pleasure associated with it.

7. I try to keep at par with the reading pleasure of the article and then begin to question if I have stayed true to its vision.

8. I am a paradox, I enjoy using oxymorons in my work.

9. I am generally not happy after I am done writing – I proof read and edit till my back hurts and I go ballistic.

10. I write everywhere, I don’t have a routine or schedule.

11. My references are unique; they are generally of my life and I seldom run out of it.

Now I have every reason to continue writing because even though the above pointers look like challenges and areas I need help with, I at least know where am slacking and that's a win. Problem identified is problem halved, ain’t it? I am not sure if I came up with that phrase or I had read it earlier. Thanks for stopping by to read, and I will see you soon here.

Did she have it in her?

Yes, this is my journal and no, that is not a vodoo doll.

She thought she knew what she wanted,

And she let herself believe in it.

She worked hard at it

And realised she wasn't going far

She sat back; asking herself,

If she really knew what she wanted

Her heart said it did; and

Her mind acted like a dud

She tried yet again; and this time

She put her mind to it

It looked like she was going to make it work

But her faith kind of faltered 

She looked around for help

A comforting face, a kind smile: None.

She looked within and Alas,

A friend waiting and a passionate soul

She got to her desk again, now feeling different

Not with a plan yet, but with a sure goal

She knew she had herself

And that can sometimes be too much too.

She leaned behind and smiled; Her mind echoed, 

'Life is not as bad as you thought, eh?'

But her heart thundered, ' Life is great.,

Just be willing and always believe'

You are what you work to be..

It has been six months since I published anything here. I have in fact written more than a dozen pieces but couldn't bring myself to publishing it. I kept procrastinating for lack of motivation and satisfaction in the quality of my work. I used to sit down and write every time I had a startling idea or a revelation, but in a couple of lines, I would feel the fire put out. I tried to rekindle it by thinking hard and long to the point of remorse but to no avail. I would roughly put some words together to save face before myself and fend it with few artificially enthused phrases. 

However one thing I did correctly was, I continued to write. I didn't want to stop even though I knew I wouldn't complete it, but isn't trying and failing better than giving up and sulking? 

I sat here writing this post.

This isn't something I can give up. I love writing. I love the feeling of having my thoughts translate into something relatable, enjoyable and powerful to my reader. I yearn the feeling of knowing I encouraged, upheld, caused one to smile through my words. It means a lot to me.  After about a barren time without publishing, here I am in a place of identifying my emotions without ambiguity. All the words I put down come from my heart and mind. I do not sew my words to sound artsy or sly as my intention is to be heard and not to be sold out. The heart is a sanctuary of truth and you don't have to sell the truth. Truth will make itself known. That has been my philosophy, with life and in writing - genuineness. 

Every passionate person is talented and their determination to follow it through makes them an artist. 

Obstacles and challenges are inevitable in the path to great things. A little bit of patience, a whole lot of practice and a great deal of determination is the recipe to realising your dream. It will involve long nights, wavering thoughts, faltering spirit, physical and mental agony but believe in yourself and never fail to work for it. If you have it, you will want it. If you want it, you will pursue it.